


bury me with it

by Ghovls



Series: like no place is there (FFXV kinkmeme fills) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sadness, endgame spoilers, offscreen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghovls/pseuds/Ghovls
Summary: Response to a kinkmeme prompt: Noctis and Prompto's first/last kiss at the Citadel. Endgame spoilers.





	bury me with it

“So, this is farewell.” Ignis spoke up first.

“Yeah.” Noctis nodded, taking in his retinue one final time. He had little words to express the pressure in his chest, the buildup of emotion. “Here we are.” The King had made peace with death, but that didn't mean leaving Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto behind would be any less difficult.

“It's all you.” Gladiolus locked eyes with Noctis and nodded solemnly, his words finite and solid.

Noctis nodded back, gaze sweeping over Ignis and Gladio, only to land on Prompto, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Rain began to fall steadily over the four of them, soaking their clothes and splashing on the Citadel's grand stairs.

The king's sharp eyes now met Prompto's softer expression, only to be witness to the way it twisted in sorrow, agony and... hesitation? Gladio saw it too, and even Ignis shifted his weight from one foot to the other with some sort of restrained urgency. 'Go on,' he seemed to be saying, and Gladio perpetuated the notion by jerking his chin in Noctis' direction.

“Your majesty.” Prompto's voice was hardly audible over the steady patter of rain, water now coming down in sheets and plastering the usually immaculately-styled shock of white blond to features both rosy and pale from the cold. It wasn't like Prompto to use formalities, in fact Noctis was sure this was the first time his friend had referred to him as royalty.  
  
Boots stirred forming puddles as the gunman moved to ascend the stairs, taking pause for only a moment, as if he was unsure that someone lacking royal blood might cross the threshold. All at once, Prompto hurried up the stairs with renowned conviction, as if he was finally realizing that this would be the last time he would see Noctis alive.

“Prompto--”

Prompto reached out, parting his lips to speak, but all that came out was a sob. If either king or commoner had been crying, the rain did well to camouflage it. “Noct, I know you have to go--”

There was a pressure in Prompto's chest, too. There was a rushing in his veins, just like the rainwater spilling down the stairs and soaking the soles of his boots. His bones, creaking and groaning like the ruins of Insomnia, wreckage trying to keep itself together for the sake of its king.

For so long, Prompto had felt unworthy. He had felt the pain of what he truly was. He was black ink spilling over the thin paper of his resolve. He was a denizen of the darkness, a product of the horrific imperial agenda. He was--

Hopelessly in love, if soulless things could love.

Noctis' hand was gripping his forearm, steadying him once he'd realized that he'd nearly slipped on the wet staircase. “Noct,” he repeated. “I have to tell you that I'm—”

It seemed to trivial, so silly. He sounded like a lovestruck teen, not a solider, not a 'glaive.

Rainwater seeped through the thick, expensive fabrics draped over both of their pitifully mortal bodies, their flesh and bones rendered only for eventual sacrifice.

There was no way he could let Noctis go without him knowing. Even if it was selfish to leave him with such a revelation and risk distracting him from his destiny. He had to pull himself together, rebuild the wreckage and walk tall for Noctis. He had to overcome the swell, the cresting wave which carried everything he wasn't. Like a river, he surged, even if he wasn't clean and pure. His besmirched, traitorous fingers reached out and found purchase in sopping black, slowly greying hair. His mouth, an open wound seeking healing from another, cold lips pressed together in the most careful and loving kiss he knew how to give.

Noctis was slow to receive whatever it was that Prompto had laid bare, but once the cursory shock had ceased prickling at exposed skin, he reached out. He appeased the gunman with a huff of warm breath, arms and hands moving to hold him, to gather up the broken pieces. There was anguish bubbling beneath his composure. Why hadn't Prompto said anything sooner? Was he so intent on punishing himself that he wanted to drag Noctis into the tide along with him? He supposed why didn't matter, what mattered now was the taste on his lips and the harmless delving of his tongue into that warm, desperate mouth. Noctis brought one hand up to cup the back of Prompto's head, the other resting comfortably in the dip of his spine.

Despite his shaking, Prompto relaxed, his fingers uncurled. He had to consciously keep his knees from buckling, to stop the tide from sweeping him away.

Noctis only broke the kiss when Prompto's shivering became too pronounced. He tilted his head, cheek to his temple. For a long while, he held them both in place, swaying slightly as if the motion might soothe them. “I love you, too.”


End file.
